


A Family of Our Own Making

by sociallychallengednerd



Series: Batfam Hogwarts!AU [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bruce Wayne Has PTSD, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Kid Fic, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, batkids growing up together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallychallengednerd/pseuds/sociallychallengednerd
Summary: Life after war is hard. Bruce struggles to find meaning in this new peace, struggles to find what peace even means after living through two devastating wars before he even reaches thirty. Without direction or purpose he finds himself at a loss.It’s a chance encounter with Auror Gordon that finally changes things for him. Bruce never would have imagined fatherhood as something that would give meaning back to his life, and yet...A story of how Bruce accidentally, over the course of two years, becomes a father of three by the age twenty seven.
Series: Batfam Hogwarts!AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711837
Comments: 5
Kudos: 106





	A Family of Our Own Making

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote a while ago. I had a bunch of other stuff planned out as well, and some things written here and there. So I may be adding more, so look out for that if you’re interested!

The Summer of 1998

The wars had been hard on the Wayne Family, the war had been hard on everyone, but the Wayne’s had been made an example of in the first war. Martha and Thomas Wayne had both been outspoken reformists staunchly against traditional blood purity views, and when You Know Who gained power they had quickly been labeled as blood traitors. Their deaths, their murders, had been a shock to the world, because no matter their views the Waynes had still been a noble pureblood line. They had been the first noble pure blood family to die at the hands of He Who Must Not Be Named and his Death Eaters. The death of Martha and Thomas Wayne had been a message that no one was safe in this war. That came with some notoriety. 

Bruce had been the only surviving member of the Wayne name, left behind out of a reluctance to completely irradiated one of the few noble blood lines. He had watched his world crumble as his parents bodies crumpled to the floor, and it had only seemed to get worse from there. 

A decade and a half later the illusion of peace that had seemed to have been achieved was shattered. Bruce hadn’t doubt for a moment that the Potter boy was correct about the return of Voldemort. After the horrors that the first war had brought Bruce had always had trouble believing that it had truly been over. The idea that he was just simply gone had seemed too good to be true. Alfred liked to say that was untreated PTSD talking, but Bruce had been the one proven right that time, so the joke was on him. 

Bruce had begun preparing. He had refused to let himself be caught unaware, and he refused to allow the wizarding world to be caught unaware in spite of all of Fudge’s best efforts. He had joined the Order using his Ministry position to smuggle out information. That had worked for a few years, then the Ministry fell. Wayne Manor had been abandoned; he and Alfred had fled in the dead of night when the Death Eaters came for them. He had run missions for the Order after that staying on the move most of the time.

The second war had been both better and worse than the first. Bruce had been so young the first time, and there had been so much that he missed or didn’t understand. This time Bruce was in the thick of it, but he was consoled by the fact that at least he was able to help this time. There was less of the pervasive feeling of helplessness that had plagued so much of his childhood. Better or worse, Bruce couldn’t truly say, but it did seem shorter. Grueling, awful, and terrifying, yes, but it all seemed to happen so fast. It seemed like such a short time before he found himself standing in the Hogwarts castle preparing to make a last stand. 

Too many people had died there, but, by some miracle, Bruce hadn’t. In the months that followed he sometimes wished he had. Rebuilding, he learned, was a lot harder than fighting. But he managed. Wayne manor was repaired, it had been thoroughly sacked after it had been abandoned without anyone in the house to restore the wards. He had even managed to recover some Wayne family heirlooms that had gone missing buying them back through some shadier dealers. Still, Bruce hadn’t been able to shake the numb apathy for it all; the discomfort at the mundanity of it all. Trying to return to life as normal even while everything seemed to be in ruins around them. 

It was a conversation with Jim Gordon that had changed things, or more, it was an overheard argument. On a whim Bruce had decided to deliver a report to the Auror department personally rather than charm it along on its way itself. In all honesty it had been an excuse to get away from his desk, to put off work. The last thing he expected was to catch the tail end of a shouting match in Gordon’s office. Shouting match was a bit misleading a thing to call it though, Jim hadn’t been doing much shouting after all. 

Bruce was quick to step out of the way as a red faced man threw open the door storming down the hall and out of sight. Peeking his head inside the office found Head Auror Jim Gordon sitting at his desk, his head buried in his hands. Bruce wrapped a knuckle against the door frame.

“Everything alright?” Jim’s head snapped up, but his shoulders seemed to slump at the sight of Bruce in his door. 

“Fine, fine,” He shook his head straightening the papers on his desk listlessly. “Was there anything you needed?”

Bruce stepped further into the office setting down the handful of papers on Jim’s desk. “Just a delivery. Are you sure you’re okay, that was,” he hesitated, “heated.” 

Jim smiled, but there was no humor to it. “Just another person discontent with how the ministry is trying to put things back together. That was the manager for the Montrose Magpies.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow casting a glance over his shoulder down the hall, but the man was long gone now. He had no idea what the manager of Britain's most successful quidditch teams was doing having a shouting match in the head Auror’s office. 

“Two of his players died in the war, the Grayson couple. They left behind their son; he wants to take the boy, but,” Jim shrugged. The movement was tired and weary, and Bruce could just see the weight on the man’s shoulders. 

“Legally we can’t let him take the kid in. He has no relation and traveling around with a sports team isn’t exactly a safe place for a child by ministry standards. Merlin only knows why he’s complaining to me about it, as if there’s anything I could do about it. As if the Ministry isn’t overloaded right now trying to find a place to fit all these kids. I mean, do you realize how many kids have been orphaned in all this?”Jim asked exhaustion and outrage lingering at the corners of his expression. Suddenly he seemed to abruptly realize just what he’d said and to whom, his mouth snapping shut. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about this. What was it you brought to me?”

Bruce was only paying half attention the rest of the conversation his mind stuck on all that Jim had told him. The thoughts didn’t leave him once he left Jim’s office either. They followed him all week, dogging his heels. Not for the first time Bruce found himself thinking how lucky he had been to have to have Alfred. He tried to imagine if he hadn’t, if Wayne manor had been locked up until he was old enough to inheirate it, and Bruce put into a ministry home, bounced around to different strangers so soon after losing his parents. 

It was nine days later that Bruce sent an owl to Jim asking him to put him in touch with someone from Children’s Services about the boy they had spoken about. 

XXX

Richard Grayson was nine years old; his parents had been quidditch stars for the Montrose Magpies, the Flying Graysons. They’d been a well known and well loved pair of muggleborns, outspoken about their views on blood purity, everything the Death Eaters’ couldn’t tolerate. They had been shot out of the sky during a regional match hitting the ground before anyone could react. Their young son was supposed to be a young prodigy with a broom, destined to join his parents on the field someday. An impossible dream now. 

The files that he had been sent on the boy painted a tragic story that in no way had prepared Bruce for meeting Dick. The boy was incapable of keeping still, a ball of energy and a wide smile like the sun. There was no warming up to Dick, no, the boy had just inserted himself into Bruce’s life as if he had always been there. 

It was a relief that Dick was so easily manageable, if confusing. Bruce remembered what it was like to lose both his parents in one fell moment, but Dick just seemed so untouched by all the things he had gone through. 

Two weeks into Dick living in the manor things began to make a bit more sense. It was the middle of the night when there was a tiny hand shaking Bruce awake; in an instance Bruce was sitting bolt upright in bed, his wand in one hand the other wrapped around a small, skinny wrist. It took him a moment to register the sight of Dick trembling standing beside his bed tears down his wide eyed face. Bruce was quick to drop his wand to the side pulling the boy in close to him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s okay, I’m so sorry. You startled me there, chum.” Bruce pulled away moving over to make room in the bed for him. 

Dick climbed in next to him, a stuffed elephant tucked under his arm, and quickly curled up into Bruce. “I had a bad dream.” The words are soft spoken between quiet sobs against Bruce’s shirt, and his heart goes out for the boy. 

“It’s okay, you can always come sleep in here if you want. You just be careful waking me up, alright?” 

Dick nodded pulling back to wiping viciously at his face. He stared down at the little wet patch he had left pressing his face against Bruce’s shirt. “I got your shirt wet.”

“Nothing that won’t dry.” Bruce pulled Dick back down to curl against his chest. “You go ahead and cry, alright?” The words seem to slip out of him without thought. “You go ahead and cry all you want until you feel better. I’m going to be right here. I won’t let anything happen to you, promise.” His mother used to always tell him that when he was a boy. 

Bruce laid there feeling Dick’s sobs slowly trailing off as he cried himself to sleep. He stayed awake significantly longer, fingers running through soft, black hair feeling the rise and fall of his tiny chest pressed into Bruce’s side. In that moment Bruce had never been more sure of his decision, and slowly sleep came to Bruce as well. One more peaceful than he could usually claim to have. 

After that night Bruce tried to be better at seeing past the ever present smile on Dick’s face. He would notice when Dick’s eyes would go tight and when his grin was a bit too wide. On those days Alfred would make them both hot chocolate and they would curl up together on the couch in the sitting room and watch movies on the heavily warded and enchanted TV that Dick had insisted upon them getting. Dick insisted that Bruce’s basic muggle cultural knowledge was a disgrace and he had dedicated himself to making Bruce watch all the muggle cultural staples. 

Things were good. For the first time in a long time Bruce felt like he had a real family again; for once it didn’t feel like just him and Alfred against the world. 

XXX

Some four months later found Bruce at Diagon Alley. It was recovering slowly but steadily, shops reopening and people beginning to return, though it was still far sparser than it had once been. Bruce generally preferred to avoid the melancholy scene, but Dick never seemed to stop growing, which meant yet another visit to Twilifitt and Tatting for new robes. Also a trip to Eeylopes Owl Emporium for more treats for Titus, because Dick liked to sneak him extras when he thought no one was looking. The poor bird was going to get fat. 

It was leaving Tilifitt and Tatting that it happened. Bruce was pulling his scarf tighter around his neck to fight off the early December chill when he felt a hand trying to reach into his robes that had Bruce dropping his bags and spinning on his heel, his wand already in hand and the other grabbing tight to the culprit’s shirt. Bruce wasn’t expecting the swift punch to the gut that came, but he didn’t falter and managed to keep his grip on what he now realized was a young boy. His hair was dark and uncared for, tangled and shaggy; his blue eyes wide with panic as he struggled to get away; he wore muggle clothes, but they were rumpled and dirty. He couldn’t be older than Dick. 

“Hey, hey, settled down. I’m not going to hurt you.” Bruce eased his grip on the boy’s shirt shifting his hand to his shoulders. 

The boy stopped fighting to get away but he still watched Bruce with wary eyes ready to bolt at any given chance. 

It was on a whim that Bruce asked, “are you hungry?” 

They went to Florean’s and got ice cream sitting at one of the tables outside watching people pass as they talked. His name was Jason, he was eight years old, and no, he didn’t have any relatives that Bruce could notify. His father died in Azkaban after he’d run off to become a snatcher leaving Jason alone with his muggle mother. She had done her best to hide him, to protect him from what she knew was going on, but drugs got her first, Jason had declared flatly staring down at his ice cream stabbing into it with a spoon numbly. Bruce should floo Jim or the woman that he had spoken to in children's services, let the Ministry find the boy a place off the street, but looking at Jason he knew that if he did the boy would be gone and missing again in a few weeks. Bruce could at least make sure it wasn’t too easy for him to run. 

Bruce did send a message to the woman in the end, but it was to request the filing of custody papers. 

XXX

Bringing Jason home was a bit more complicated. The size and glaring wealth of the manor obviously made Jason uncomfortable. He navigated the house so carefully, like he was afraid of touching anything. That combined with Dick’s initial and pointed dislike of him set the boy on edge. Dick refused to so much as talk to either Jason or Bruce for at least a week. Still, Jason carved himself out a place in the manor, almost defiantly. Bruce certainly hadn’t expected what that place would be though. At any given time Jason could be found one of two places in the manor: the library or trailing along as Alfred’s shadow. 

Jason tore through the library; he read anything he could get his hands on from history, to philosophy, to theoretical magic foundationals. His favorites though was literature. He loved muggle classics. The boy seemed to get through a book every other day. Jason had only been living in the manor for a little less than three weeks and Bruce was pretty sure he was on his second read through of Pride and Prejudice. Bruce had been surprised enough at what a voracious reader the boy was, but he certainly hadn’t expected the little boy who had a month ago sucker punched him in the stomach trying to steal his coin purse to be the romantic type. 

If Jason wasn’t in the library he was almost certainly dogging Alfred’s heels helping the older man with things around the house. Alfred was all too happy to teach Jason how to take care of the house, and cook, and even some potions basics. A squib the man might be, but a lack of magic didn’t make him any less of a competent potioneer. 

One late afternoon saw Bruce freezing in the doorway to the sitting room at the sight of both of his boys sitting in the same room. Granted, they were both very deliberately sitting on opposite ends of the room, but progress was progress. He was about to speak up when Dick turned the TV down looking over to Jason curled up in his chair with his head in a book. 

“Hey,” Jason raised his head, giving the other boy a suspicious glance. “You still reading that Pride and Prejudice book?”

“No, it’s Sense and Sensibility. What of it?” Jason drew his spine up straight, his tone defensive. 

From where he was standing Bruce was ready to step in to defuse whatever argument the boys managed to get into now, but Jason’s tone didn’t seem to touch Dick and the boy just shrugged. 

“Just wondering. You know there’s a movie of that, came out a bit ago. I think we have it, if you wanna watch it.”

Bruce stood there with baited breath watching the silent stand off. Finally, without a word Jason marked his place in his book and stood quietly moving to take his place on the opposite side of the couch. Bruce could see Dick’s wide toothy grin as he jumped up and began to go through their shelves of movies. Without a word Bruce back away leaving the two boys to their movie his heart feeling significantly lighter. 

XXX

Sometimes Bruce sorely missed the time when Dick and Jason wouldn’t speak to each other. He had thought occasionally peeling Dick off the chandeliers would going to give him a heart attack. Bruce had been in no way prepared for Jason to find the broom shed out behind the estate. Bruce had put up a valiant fight to keep the boys firmly on the ground, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. Better they do their flying supervised than breaking out the brooms and doing it behind his back. So Bruce very carefully set up a section of the grounds with cushioning charms and wards just in case and very strict instructions that they were not to fly outside of that area. At first he’d also tried to insist on adult supervision if they were in the air as well, but watching them, especially Dick, set his teeth on edge. Bruce was a competent flyer, back in his day he’d been on the Slytherin Quidditch team as a chaser, but watching Dick doing a handstand on his broom some twenty meters in the air had Bruce’s palms sweating. Really it was an act of self preservation to leave the boys to it, before his heart gave out. Instead Bruce would just settle on compulsively refreshing the cushioning charms. 

XXX

The next incident was some six months later. Things were doing well. Dick and Jason got along well enough. Dick now insisted that Jason was his brother and though Jason would wrinkle his nose at the term Bruce had yet to really hear him protest. Things were good. Jason had even called him Dad once. It had been a slip of the tongue that had the boy turning red and running off, but it sent a surge of warmth through Bruce’s chest that had lingered for weeks. Then Gordon had made a house call. Bruce wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when the man asked if he could floo there to talk, but it certainly wasn’t Jim asking if he could take in Timothy Drake. 

Bruce remembered the Drakes: a noble pureblood family, relative moderates politically. They had been friendly with the Wayne’s, but there were no existing alliances there. Bruce knew they had attempted to stay out of the fighting, but that that had only worked for so long. In the end they had been tangled up with You Know Who just by virtue of blood purity. Bruce hadn’t heard much of them from his time in the Order. Gordon had filled him in on the rest. They had been pressed into taking the mark after the Ministry’s fall, but they had lingered on the edges of You Know Who’s circle, professing their loyalty but doing little else. The Drakes’ were already known to travel often for business, but this had increased over the war, their absence preventing them from receiving many orders. Their son had remained behind in their estate, proof they weren’t fleeing the country. The method had seemed to work for a while. Bruce didn’t know when that changed, much of it was unknown, but what was known was that the Drakes earned their Dark Lord’s ire and it had led to their deaths. 

The seven year old son of two posthumously convicted Death Eaters. Bruce couldn’t fathom why Jim was coming to him of all people. He sat there in muted shock listening to Jim lay out the whole tale. Bruce glanced down at the paper spread across his desk that Jim had handed over. 

“Jim, what I’m trying to understand is why you’re bringing this to me? I’ve only just adopted Dick and Jason last year, and they’re more than enough of a handful without adding another traumatized child to the mix.” 

Gordon steepled his fingers together, settling them over his lap. “I would have thought you would have been more sympathetic; his story is similar to yours.”

“My parents weren’t Death Eaters.” The words came quick and sharp, eyes narrowed at the man sitting across from him. 

“No, they weren’t.” The look Jim gave him was harsh and scathing. “But the Drakes hardly wanted to be either. I brought this to you because the kid’s gone through enough. I’d like to put him with a pureblood family; there’s enough change going on in his life right now. I’d like to not have to drop him into a whole other world so to speak. Besides, he’ll still inherit the Drakes’ place in the House of Lords and he’ll need to know what that means.”

Gordon stood placing the last of the papers on Bruce’s desk. On top of the pile was a picture of the Drake’s with their son. The portrait had all of them dressed in fine robes looking refined and regal. Bruce watched Janet Drake’s hand raise to rest on her son's shoulder a small smile lighting up his young face. 

“He’s been hard to home. Usually it’s easier with pureblood kids. That’s why blood alliances exist, to insure continuation of bloodlines, but this war,” Jim broke off shaking his head. “His parents were involved with You Know Who, but in the end they ultimately refused him. I don’t want to put him in the hands of any of the remaining more conservative families and worry that they will hold a grudge, and the rest are reluctant because of the stimaga his name now brings. Frankly, I don’t know what options there are for him now. I had thought that you might have seen it differently. I suppose I was wrong.” Jim grabbed his cloak off the back of the chair, his mouth drawn into a hard line. “I’ll just see myself out.” 

Bruce sat there in silence watching him leave. There was a knot of shame in his gut that he felt was well deserved. This was a child after all. A seven year old child in no way responsible for the actions of his parents. Bruce stared down at the picture in front of him again, at the large pale blue eyes peering out from behind a curtain of dark hair. Damn it. 

XXX

Bruce knew better this time. This time he sat Dick and Jason down for a long talk about the possibility of taking Timothy in. Dick seemed excited at the prospect of ‘getting another little brother’, as he termed it. Jason was a lot more hesitant, but he seemed receptive to the idea. The more Bruce explained about the situation the more he could see the boys’ growing reservations. Over the past year it had become apparent that Dick and Jason were distrustful of purebloods outside of their family at the best of times, and Bruce could understand that. He could understand their fears about this new boy living in the house, but if Bruce was going to do this he would do it right. 

“I want to make it clear to you two are going to be on our best behavior if Timothy comes to live here. He has done nothing wrong, and we are going to treat him as such.” Bruce said very carefully looking both boys over. He wasn’t expecting Jason to jump out of his seat. 

“‘M gonna treat him like some monster just cause something his parents did.” His face was defiant and set firm. 

Right. Bruce should have expected that reaction. For a moment his heart melted just a little for his soft hearted boy, so righteous and caring. 

“We’ll be nice, Bruce.” Dick assured. 

“I know you two will be.” Bruce reached out his hands settling on their shoulders. “I just wanted you to know that Timothy might have certain opinions, and it’s going to be our job to teach him better,” Bruce gave Jason a look, “nicely.” He said sternly. 

Dick gave him a very serious nod that seemed almost comical on his young face, and eventually Jason gave his grumbled agreement. 

“But if I hear the word mudblood come from his lips, I’ll bloody them.” Jason crossed his arms over his chest with a huff and Bruce let out a long sigh pushing his hair back from his face. Right, baby steps. 

XXX

Meeting Timothy, meeting Tim, was nerve racking. He’d wrinkled up his little nose when Bruce had first greeted him asking to be called Tim instead. Tim was not quite what Bruce was expecting. He was a quiet boy, always silently watching with wide, pale eyes. He was also exceptionally polite, but Bruce could recognize that as a product of his discomfort in a strange place and a strict upbringing. He’d worn a small little bag thrown over his shoulder. When Bruce had asked Tim had wordlessly opened his bag and pulled out a large camera. It looked almost comical in Tim’s tiny hands, but he had sat down on one of the couches with Bruce and showed him some of his favorite pictures he’d taken with a childlike joy that seemed missing from him most other times. It was one of the few things that seemed to draw Tim out his shell in those early days, talking about his pictures, other than that he seemed to keep to himself. 

It wasn’t exactly that he was avoiding people; it seemed almost like he was just used to being on his own. Bruce wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to combat that. He would watch Tim wander the manor and the ground with his camera so comfortably alone in a way that disconcerted him. Alfred said it reminded him of Bruce as a boy. Somehow that didn’t make him feel better. 

There was one exception to Tim’s self imposed isolation, Dick. When Tim had first been introduced to the boy he had stared up at Dick with wide star struck eyes repeating Dick’s name back with a quiet reverence. 

“You’re Dick Grayson. I was a big fan of your parents. I got to see them fly a couple of times.” 

Bruce had watched the shock on Dick’s face slowly give way to a bittersweet, sad kind of smile, and he had wondered if he shouldn’t step in, but his boys were always impressing him. 

“Yeah? They were pretty great, huh? You a big Magpies fan? Maybe we can sit and talk quidditch sometime.” His expression was still sad, but his smile grew as Tim’s face lit up. 

Bruce would sometimes catch them chatting about games and strategy or even Dick telling Tim stories about his parents, little things. He seemed relieved to talk about them for all that it obviously hurt, and Bruce wondered if he shouldn’t have asked before this. He had never been good at talking about things like that though. 

Jason and Tim were a whole other story however. It had been fine at first. Tim didn’t hold any of egregious opinions like Bruce knew Jason had been worried about. In the beginning there was a sense of cautious ambivalence, but that was quick to break down, starting with Tim declaring that he didn’t see the point in reading muggle literature, that it seemed like a waste of time. Jason had been incensed, it had honestly been a little funny to watch Jay’s little face screw up with indignant fury, a copy of Romeo and Juliet clutched to his chest. They had argued, trading barbs and insults before Bruce had finally broken it up and sent them off to different rooms to cool off. 

They continued on like that bickering back and forth, always at each other’s throats. Jason’s anger at Tim was more rooted in frustration than anything else. Tim had proven himself to be a pretty sharp kid, and Bruce could just see how much it infuriated him Tim’s proclaimed dislike of reading. Jay was always so sensitive about his interests too: his love of reading, his penchant for romances. Having Tim poke fun at his books always got an instant rise from the boy. 

If Bruce didn’t know any better he would think Tim was doing it on purpose. Well, Bruce supposed that he had wanted them to be siblings. Careful what you wish for and all that. 

Tim was a good kid though. Much of Bruce’s concerns about taking him in had been put to bed within the first few weeks. Tim was no budding blood supremist. Occasionally there were things, misconceptions, brought from a more traditional pureblood upbringing: his early confusion about the lack of house elves, his hesitancy concerning Alfred, there were other things too, but they were small, usually easy to handle. It was more difficult when Bruce wasn’t the one involved. 

“Your mother was a muggle, wasn’t she?” 

Bruce looked up from his plate to find Tim staring intently at Jason who had gone rigid. Merlin help him, of course the first time that Tim manages to speak up and start a real conversation during dinner Bruce is going to have to end up breaking up a fight. 

“Yeah,” Jason’s eyes narrowed as he closed his book sliding it away from him on the table. Bruce had long since given up on fighting the losing battle of banning Jason’s books at the dinner table. “What of it.”

Tim seemed to read the room sinking back into his chair a bit toying with the fork in his hand. “I just meant you’re very smart is all.” 

“And why does my Mum being a muggle have anything to do with that?” Bruce lowered a hand to his wand under the table ready to intervene with a quick proteago in case any food began to be thrown.

“Nothing, just you mostly grew up in the muggle world, right? It just means that you’re at a disadvantage, since you have to catch up learning so much.” Tim glanced around the table with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Bruce watched Jason take a deep breath visibly holding himself back. “No, you’re not wrong. There is a lot that people like me need to get caught up with. But next time, you might want to keep in mind that it’s a bit insulting to compliment someone in spite of who they are. You wouldn’t want me to say that you’re pretty nice even though your parents were who they were.” 

Tim nodded his lips pursed into a thin line with all the serious solemnity that the seven year old could manage. Tentatively they all returned back to eating Bruce sending a proud look to Jay. Jason only rolled his eyes opening his book again, but there was a smile on his lips. 

Things improved steadily from there over the course of the next few months. Bruce felt like they were a real family. A family that he had carved out himself full of people who had suffered so much already, but now, now they had each other. It was nice. The boys still fought, of course they did, but it was better, domestic.


End file.
